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Into The Long Dark	By : Wolfiekins Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 12533 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 21
- 22
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never will be. All HP characters belong to JKR and Warner Brothers, etc, etc, etc. Rael,Yuri, & Tommy belong to me.

Expert beta work by Evil Auntie Snape and Calanthe.

A/N: Okay, since it's been four months since an update, I thought I might do a nice little summary of the story thus far...well, I started to do just that, but then it ended up being over 4,000 words in of itself...so I deleted it. Suffice to say that a LOT has happened...

~~~TWENTY-TWO~~NIGHT MOVES~~~

Monday, 11 August 1997

Snape felt the presence in his room almost immediately, despite the stealth with which the intruder glided across the floor. He had always been a light sleeper, even as a child, and it had been wise to remain constantly vigilant during his years in Slytherin House. So it was no surprise when the wand tip pressed firmly into the side of his throat. There was very little he could do; he was completely defenseless as he lay in his bed, naked, covered only by a thin, silk sheet. By the time he could summon his wand from the bed table, he'd most likely be Stupefied, Crucioed, or worse. He merely sighed, opening his eyes to the pre-dawn gloom of his small bedchamber.

He was very careful to remain perfectly still.

The wand trailed across his skin, jabbing at his Adam's apple, causing him to cough. Thus far, the wielder had remained silent, but it wasn't as if Snape needed Legilimency to determine the identity of the intruder.

"I must say I am slightly disappointed in you, Lucius," he drawled, the barest hint of annoyance lacing his voice. "A knock would have been more courteous. I'm afraid I'm not dressed to receive you properly. Now, if you'll le-"

Lucius' wand poked at his throat savagely, eliciting a yelp of pain and surprise. Snape calmed himself as best he could, struggling to maintain his veneer of nonchalance. As his intruder moved in closer, he could now hear Lucius' slightly raspy, ragged breathing.

"Spare me your inane prattling, Severus! Where is he?" Lucius placed one knee on the mattress, gouging his wand more deeply into Snape's neck.

Snape swallowed as he attempted to move his head carefully away from Lucius' wand. "He's not here, as you can plainly see," he replied dryly.

Lucius growled, grabbing a handful of Snape's hair, jerking on it sharply. Snape gasped, his fists clenching at the bedclothes. Lucius leaned down, his hot, acrid breath washing over Snape's face.

"Do not lie to me," he spat, giving Snape's head another jerk. "Where is he? I know you know where he is!"

For the first time, Snape gazed directly at Lucius. Grey morning light was steadily filling the room, and he could now make out the features of Lucius' face. The former Lord of Malfoy Manor was a mere shadow of his old self. Gone was the flowing mane of silver white hair; what was left looked to be a short, spiky mess. He was incredibly thin, his face lined, cheeks sunken. The right corner of his mouth twitched in an uneven rhythm, as did his right eye, which looked to be clouded. The months spent in Azkaban had certainly taken their toll.

It was all Snape could do to suppress a wicked smile.

"Indeed," he replied smoothly. "Since you believe that I am lying, by all means, old friend, probe my thoughts. I shall not block you."

Lucius released his hair, drawing in a deep breath. He closed his eyes, his face a mask of concentration. Spasms rocked the right side of his body, causing his wand to shake erratically. After a few moments, he moaned, slowly opening his eyes.

"You will tell me where Draco is. Now!"

Snape blinked at him innocently. As he had suspected, Lucius' agitated mental state prevented him from casting a serviceable Legilimens. He hoped his standard magics were drained as well. He took a chance and pulled himself up, leaning back against the headboard and folding his arms, the silk sheet pooling about his hips. He smirked as Lucius' eyes darted down to his barely concealed groin and back again.

"As I've said, Draco is clearly not here. And I do not know where he is. He packed his things and left sometime last evening while I was meeting with Voldemort. Before your liberation."

Lucius stared blankly for a time, so long, in fact, that Snape wondered if he'd heard a single word he had said. Then, Lucius slowly backed away and stood up, the wand still pointed at his head.

"Where did you send him, Severus? As you might imagine, my patience isn't what it used to be."

Snape snorted. "I did not send him anywhere. I have done nothing but what I have been bound to do. Protect him and keep him safe. Since no one in his own family was capable of doing that," he finished quietly, watching as Lucius pursed his lips into a thin line, his wand wavering as another spasm rocked his body.

"Where is Draco? I need him, Severus! You must tell me where to find him!"

"Why? Why are you here, alone, to collect Draco? Your Lord is sending four of your friends here to do just that." Snape paused a moment, watching Lucius' face contort angrily. Seeing a chance to turn the tide of this little encounter, he forged on, adopting his most condescending tone. "He doesn't know you're here, does he? Going behind your Lord's back, eh, Lucius? This isn't like you. Frantically running about, bullying people, all to curry the favour of your Master, who, I might add, left you to rot in prison, for how long? Over a year? Oh yes, make sure you bow and scrape as best you can so that perhaps the next time you're captured and sent to Azkaban, He might not let you remain there so long. And another thing-"

Lucius' entire body shook with rage, his lips quivering, and his cheeks flushing pink in the early morning light. His wand drooped for a moment, going nearly slack in his trembling hand. Snape noted signs of exhaustion about Malfoy's eyes and face, the slumping of his shoulders, as if a huge weight were inexorably pressing down on him. The next instant, Malfoy lifted his head, throwing back his shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height, raising his wand and pointing it directly at Snape's chest.

"Enough!" Lucius shrieked, turning his head up to the low ceiling and howling again. "Enough!"

"Accio wand!" Snape barked out crisply. The slender length of dark wood flew into his hand as Lucius jerked his head back down, his eyes going wide.

"Crucio!" Lucius rasped.

"Protego," Snape murmured calmly. "And to you, old friend: Crucio!" he finished with a smile.

Lucius' curse bounced harmlessly off Snape's shield. The next instant, Lucius was writhing about on the floor boards, his wand rolling towards the bed. Snape flung the sheets back and slid out off the mattress, picking up Lucius' wand. He walked slowly over to the writhing body, a wand in each hand. Sniggering, he released his curse, kneeling down next to Lucius and lifting his chin up with both wand tips.

"Had enough? Perhaps not. Infervesco Intrepidus!"

Snape watched as Lucius' eyes went wide. Sweat popped out all over his face, the skin reddening rapidly. He began to convulse, slowly at first, but with increasing force as tiny blisters began to form on his exposed skin. He gasped for breath, a strangled gurgling sound issuing from his rapidly working mouth. He moaned, which escalated rapidly into a wail, morphing fluidly into a scream. Snape waited a moment longer before ceasing the spell. Lucius stilled immediately, drawing in huge, rasping breaths.

Snape stepped over Lucius to retrieve his nightshirt from the wardrobe. Shrugging into it, he crossed back over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He gripped both wands tightly, watching as Lucius' breathing slowly evened out.

After a few minutes, Lucius propped himself up on his elbows, staring at Snape, his clouded eye fluttering rapidly. He slowly sat up, groaning and running a hand over his blistered face.

"Where is he?" Lucius croaked out, lowering his gaze as he struggled to stand.

Snape laughed. "Missing your son, are you? Wish to apologize for being such an abysmal parent? Assure him that you shall endeavor to remain out of prison from now on? How touching."

"Draco must pay for his ineptitude," Lucius barked out, swaying wildly on his unsteady feet. "He was entrusted with a great task, and he failed utterly. He is a disgrace, an embarrassment, and it's time for him to face the consequences of that failure."

"Amazing, isn't it, how the fruit rarely falls far from the tree," Snape added sardonically. "I can see you taught Draco everything you know on the subject."

Lucius' fists clenched. "Go on. Pierce me with you barbs while you still can. For when I deliver him to our Lord personally, my loyalty will never be in doubt again."

"For once, I agree with you," Snape replied, nodding slightly. "Voldemort will no doubt see you as loyal. Foolhardy, deranged, and delusional as well, I daresay. You'll fit right in."

Lucius stumbled alarmingly, nearly falling to the floor again. "How dare you speak to me like that," he spat, "you traitorous, conniving, duplicitous bastard!"

"Sticks and stones," Snape sighed calmly, examining his fingernails.

"You think that no one sees what you have been up to. You think you have covered your tracks so carefully so as not to be suspect," Lucius wheezed, tapping his temple. "But I know your true objective. It is all clear to me now!" He cackled hoarsely, pointing a long-nailed finger in Snape's direction. "When our Lord is told how you have hidden Draco from him, how you spirited him away in the dead of night, you shall receive your comeuppance. Your days as our Lord's most favoured servant are over! OVER!"

Snape leapt off the bed, his wand drawn. With a minute flick of its tip, Lucius went rigid, his feet slowly lifting off of the floor. Another flick, and he was thrown against the rough plaster wall. Snape advanced upon him, a crooked smile on his face.

"You are once again correct, dear Lucius," he purred menacingly. "My days as lackey, toady, go-between are indeed at an end." He planted the tip of his wand in the middle of Lucius� chest . With a swift motion, his arm swept upward, sending Lucius skidding up the wall to hit the beamed ceiling with a smart thwack.

Lucius howled in pain, still frozen and unable to move his limbs.

"You shall pay for this!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "I hoped you'd be reasonable, Severus. I was a fool to believe that the bond we once shared was-"

"The bond?" Snape interrupted, tossing his head back. "How humorous that you would dredge that up, especially now! Am I supposed to be touched that you came to me, wand drawn, to gently persuade me to hand over your son to certain death? All over a tryst while we were teenagers? You're mad."

"Fuck you," Lucius growled, spitting.

Snape harrumphed. "As I said to your son the other day," he grinned, swishing his wand sharply, "I do the fucking around here!"

Lucius flew across the small bedchamber, crashing into the front of the old wardrobe, splintering one of the doors and knocking the other askew. He gasped a few times before lying still. Snape stepped just close enough to make sure he was still breathing.

"I suppose I should kill you," he murmured softly, "but perhaps release is too good for you, old friend. Yes, existing as you are now is much better punishment. Much better, indeed."

A loud crash erupted from the sitting room as one of the side tables was knocked over. Snape turned to see an unusually disheveled and sweaty Pettigrew panting in the doorway. His wand was drawn, but he was holding it backwards. He stared at Snape, following his master's gaze to the unconscious blond stretched out amidst the ruined wardrobe.

"Oh my, are you hurt, Severus?" He rushed over, carefully placing both hands on Snape's arm. "I'm so sorry. I was standing watch, as you asked, when someone stunned me from behind! I didn't see who it was then, but, now... Dear me, is that Lucius? This is not good, no, not at all! He�ll certainly tell Him about us. And we cannot remain here any longer. Oh, what ever are we going to do?"

Snape arched an eyebrow as he pushed Pettigrew's hands away. He turned and took a few steps toward the door.

"We?" he said with a smirk. "We are not going to do anything, Wormtail. Stupefy!"

Pettigrew blinked once before the spell hit; the next second his paralyzed body fell backward, his head landing a few inches from Lucius' feet. Snape cocked his head, smiling broadly.

"Don't worry, Wormtail. You should regain control of your body before Lucius awakens, or Voldemort's followers arrive. If you do, I suggest a hasty retreat. Farewell."

Retrieving Lucius' wand from the bed table, he tossed it at the wrecked wardrobe and Accioed a small travelling bag from under the bed. He gave the dreary bedchamber one last look before grinning down at Pettigrew again.

He certainly wouldn't miss this hovel at all. With any luck, Snakeface would burn it to the ground. Or perhaps he'd do that himself, later. So far, his plan had proceeded amazingly well. It was now time to move on to the second phase.

With a satisfied smirk, he Apparated.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tonks couldn't recall the last time The Ministry had been in such an uproar. Witches and wizards scurried about, some wearing ripped and torn clothes, others actually in sleepwear. Aurors moved in and out of the rows of fireplaces; scrolls and parchments zipped through the air while larger parcels and trolleys laden with files trundled up and down the corridors. Scrimgeour had sent out a Top Priority Alert.

Nearly every Ministry operative and employee had been called out this night.

She threaded through the crowded hallways, having spent a few hours with Quincy and Cabot in the morgue. The examinations of the Death Eater bodies from the alleyway had confirmed their initial conclusions: Stafford was indeed a vampire. Tests indicated that he had been Made recently, as little as two weeks ago. Further examination of blood samples taken from the scene contained definite lycan signatures. The previously ludicrous theory that Voldemort was changing his followers into vamps and werewolves now seemed to be founded in fact. She shuddered at the implications of these revelations as she approached Shacklebolt's office.

The door was open, a steady stream of parchments flitting in and out.

Tonks peered inside, barely able to stifle a grin. The nicely sized, usually orderly office was awash with parchments. Magenta and yellow scrolls mingled with the standard cream coloured ones, forming sloppy piles next to his paper-strewn desk. A Great Horned owl and a Tawny waited patiently on a perch while a huge, black raven, undoubtedly from the American Wizarding Bureau, preened itself regally.

A small video screen tucked in the corner behind the desk was tuned to The Wizarding News Network. The sound was off and Rita Skeeter was shoving her microphone into someone's face, her lips moving a mile a minute. As the camera panned about, Tonks noted Percy's blank, bored expression as he listened to the reporter blather on. She smiled to herself; Percy was a prat, but he knew how to handle the press, especially Skeeter. Percy continually shook his head, flashing his best fake smile. The animated text at the bottom of the screen morphed and wavered, a lurid, bright green: Night of Terror: Britain Reacts to Latest Death Eater Attacks! A miniature Dark Mark hovered about, the snake's tongue lashing out at the word 'Britain' over and over again.

Shacklebolt was speaking into his hearth, Quincy's head bouncing up and down lazily in the green flames. The forensics wizard looked extremely tired and pale. Shacklebolt was swatting at a trio of especially insistent scrolls that were alternately fluttering about his head or tapping his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, sir," Quincy was saying tiredly. "We've only just finished up with Stafford's body. It's quite a mess down here, as you can imagine."

Shacklebolt sighed loudly, snatching two of the scrolls and clenching them tightly in his fist. "You're certain you sent the reports up? Directly to me?"

Quincy nodded. "Yes sir, Red Priority. They should have been there by now." He swallowed, his expression brightening slightly as he noticed Tonks standing behind Shacklebolt. "Ask Miss Tonks, sir. She watched me dispatch the reports."

Shacklebolt whipped his head about, his expression grim. "Fine, fine. I'll give them a few more minutes to arrive, and then I'll call you again for replacements."

"I'll start collating them now, sir," Quincy replied, shooting Tonks a nervous look.

She winked in response, and Quincy smiled wanly.

"Good. Get on it," Shacklebolt finished curtly, waving his hand and banishing Quincy's rather relieved looking visage. "Bloody hell! I needed those reports an hour ago. Scrimgeour is going ballistic. I've got half of my staff keeping The Prophet and WNN at bay. Bollocks! What a mess!"

A yellow scroll zoomed into the office, thwacking Shacklebolt square in the middle of his forehead. "Owww...shit!" he growled, snatching at the parchment and ripping it open.

"Can you shut that damned door?" he barked, his brow furrowing as he read the urgent missive.

Tonks cleared her throat as she closed the door, a few more parchments squeezing though the gap. She locked and warded it, quietly giggling to herself as still more scrolls tapped eagerly at the opaque glass set in the door.

"Well, Kingsley, this is what you wanted. An office of your very own. I really think you need an assistant. You are Associate Minister, after all." She grinned sweetly as Shacklebolt struggled to coax the fluttering scrolls and memos down into his in-tray.

"One of three AM's," he replied absently, dropping the yellow parchment to his desk. It disappeared immediately, leaving behind a tiny puff of smoke. "Damn. The old man wants those reports." He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. "Why didn't you bring them up here yourself?"

She shrugged. "Quicker to use the network. Faster than me hiking up ten floors with them in hand. Like Quincy said, they should have been here by now."

Shacklebolt swore under his breath. "Well, is there anything new you can tell me while we wait?" He placed his hands on his hips, his usually warm brown eyes looking amazingly tired. She stepped up to his desk as the last scroll settled gently into his in-tray.

"Well, the biggest revelation has been the identification of large amounts of lycan blood taken from the alleyway. No matches found for it in the Werewolf Registry Files, though, which is consistent if You-know-who is creating Dark Creatures at will." She paused, allowing the information to sink in. "Cabot is cross-checking the Registry files for matching blood markers, in an attempt to identify who Made the lycan."

Shacklebolt shook his head. "Any more good news?" He sat down heavily, leaning back in his chair.

She paused a moment, licking her lips. "Analysis of the residual energy signatures confirms that Draco Malfoy was indeed in that alley this evening. As well as Neville Longbottom..."

He leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the desk. "Go on..."

Tonks swallowed. "It appears that there were at least two Personal Occlusive Fields present in the alley as well."

Shacklebolt's eyes went wide. "Aurors? That's impossible. I'd have known. Aside from you, there weren't any other Aurors anywhere near the area."

"Well, those are the initial findings. Cabot noted that the two POFs were markedly different. One was a standard Ministry issue; the other had a signature we couldn't immediately trace. Cabot focused on the oddball. Whoever was using that one was the target of several curses and hexes, which caused brief failures of the occlusive field. After a fashion, he was able to identify the wizard."

Shacklebolt threw up his hands. "Well? Who was it?

"We're fairly certain that it was...um...Harry Potter." She grimaced, gazing at the video screen. Skeeter was babbling away as an animated graphic showed the location of each of the evening's attacks.

Shacklebolt blew out a breath. "Harry Potter. Out prowling about with his mates, in an alley, late at night. In the middle of a Muggle business district, with a contraband POF. Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant!" He stared off to his right, apparently gazing at his array of framed diplomas and certificates.

She stood there in the awkward silence, shifting back and forth from one foot to the other. As the pause continued, she folded her arms. The sound of scrolls tapping at the door and the fire crackling lazily were the only sounds in the office. Shacklebolt looked back to her, his mouth a thin line. He slammed his fist down on his desk.

"Bloody hell, Nymphadora! You're supposed to be keeping a lid on things! You're supposed to be keeping him safe! He could have been killed! Merlin's balls, this is completely unacceptable!"

She felt the heat rising up her neck, and knew that her cheeks were flushing pink. One thing she inherited from her father was a nasty temper. It rarely manifested itself, but it was about to make an appearance now.

"Right. Thanks for that, Kingsley," she said as evenly as possible. "I put in twelve and sixteen hour shifts, seven days a week, by myself these days, keeping that little wanker safe! If you're so concerned for Harry, how about adding another Auror to my patrol area?" When Shacklebolt opened his mouth to reply, she held up a hand and barrelled on, the volume of her voice rising steadily. "No, wait, wait, I know what you're going to say. Ministry directives, allocation of resources, budget constraints, whatever. Save it! I work out there, on the streets, not in some sheltered office far removed from reality."

"I don't make the rules, Tonks," he replied firmly. "I must insist that they be adhered to, however. Harry has to be protected. That's why he was allowed to stay at Grimmauld Place. He's not supposed to stray from the premises unsupervised." He paused, looking pointedly at her before staring into the hearth. "I see that firmer restrictions are in order. From this point forward, he is not to leave that house without express, written permission from me. He will now be under constant, twenty-four hour surveillance. Seeing as how you seem to be unable to separate your personal feelings for Harry from your duty to The Ministry, I believe I shall assign another Auror to take your place. I 'll have your new assignment by breakfast. That's all. Dismissed."

He immediately picked up his quill and began scratching away at his stack of parchments.

Tonks placed both of her hands on the large, mahogany desk. Her voice was low but barely controlled. "You can't do that, Kingsley."

"I can, and I have," he replied without looking up. "I'm sorry; this isn't a reprimand of any sort; it's just for the best."

She snorted. "I'm not worried about me. Go ahead. Pull me. Whatever. What I meant was, you can't do this to Harry. You'll lose him, Kingsley."

"What the hell do you mean?" He glared at her, his quill frozen in place.

"Just that. He'll bolt. Harry's under so much pressure, he's ready to burst. Add in losing Black and Dumbledore, raging teenage hormones, and he's a powder keg. He needs some freedom, some space, room to knock about and let off some steam." She paused, slightly disappointed at the incredulous look on Shacklebolt's face. "And he's dealing with his sexuality. We have to remember that he's flesh and blood, not just some tool. You can't clamp down on him like this. It won't work."

His eyes widened slightly. "Sexuality? You don't mean..."

Tonks harrumphed. "C'mon, Kingsley. It's the nineties, remember? And yes, Harry's dealing with being gay, on top of everything else."

He blew out a breath, returning to his parchment. "The entire fate of our world hangs on Harry. We don't have time for counselling or any of that touchy-feely mumbo jumbo! We cannot afford to let him-"

"Let him what, live?" Tonks cut him off with a slam of her fists. "He's little more than a boy, Kingsley!"

"Hardly. He's of age now. An adult. It's time he grew up and acted like one." He glanced at her quickly before shuffling his papers again.

"You insensitive bastard!" she yelled, her fists striking his desk. "I don't believe you! He was raised in a cupboard and those Muggles abused him horribly! He faced that psychotic bastard alone, when he was eleven years old! For fuck's sake, where's your compassion, your empathy? He's had nothing but heartache and strife his entire life! Yeah, sure, I knew he was sneaking out from time to time. I knew he was going to The Dragon's Lair; I've got Ellen and Viv watching out for him there. Sometimes I lose sight of him, but never for long. He needs that tiny bit of freedom, Kingsley. He needs time to just be Harry. Take that away, hold him down, and we will lose him."

She reached out and stilled his quill hand. "Please. Don't do this. If you want to really help, and I mean help Harry, use that position of yours. Add another full time Auror to the area around Grimmauld Place. Hide the expenses. Divert the paperwork. Whatever. Trust me on this. And if anything happens, I'll take full responsibility."

Shacklebolt stared at her a moment before launching out of his chair and storming around his desk. She turned to face him, her face calm, relaxed. He stopped bare inches from her, placing both hands on her shoulders and gripping her tightly.

"This isn't a game, Nymphadora. I hear you, but we can't afford to simply give Harry free reign to work out his gay, teenaged angst. There's too much to lose."

"Exactly," she murmured, staring up at him, "far too much to lose. Trust me. One more time, okay?"

He gazed down at her, running a thumb across her cheek. "I want to trust you. You're much more in tune to this sort of thing than I am, but..."

She reached up, giving him a chaste peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Kingsley. You won't regret it. I promise!"

"Wait a minute, I don't think I-"

The fire blazed high, a bright fluorescent green. Quincy's worried face bobbed gently in the flames. "Sir! Oh, my, didn't mean to interrupt, but, erm, it's rather urgent."

Shacklebolt released Tonks, stepping around her toward the hearth. "Urgent? What is it? And where are those forensic reports?"

Quincy swallowed. "Uh, that's just it, sir. I've been trying to find them. The reports from the alley tonight. They're gone. Missing. Central Filing has no record of them whatsoever."

"What?" Shacklebolt leaned down, staring directly into Quincy's face. "That's impossible."

"I'm sorry sir, but we cannot locate them. We've got half of the clerical staff overturning the place." He glanced away for a moment, as if listening to someone behind him. "And that's not all, sir..."

Tonks stepped next to Shacklebolt. "What else, Quincy?"

"All of the samples are also missing. They've just vanished, even with the security wards."

"Circe," Shacklebolt muttered. His eyes flew wide as Tonks gripped his arm.

"Quincy," she blurted out, "the bodies! Are they..."

He nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid they're gone as well."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hadn't any idea how long he had been running or where he was. Yes, his body was now tired and aching from the exertion, but he felt exhilarated, vibrant, so very alive! The night air caressed and soothed his sweaty skin, ruffling the sticky locks of hair away from his face. The sounds of the slumbering city hummed pleasantly, a perfect complement to the other new sounds filling his ears.

He couldn't believe he had never heard them before. Everything seemed to speak to him now. The trees, whispering to him with their thready, langourous voices, enjoying the breeze as it wafted through their leaves. Shrubs, flowers and even the grass quietly crooning their own refrain, different, distinct, beautiful, a hymn of nightsound. The moonlight washed over him, her ethereal chorus at once muted, sorrowful, yet strong, filling him with a feeling of satisfaction and joy. He raised his hands over his head, eyes closed, smiling widely as he slowly came to a stop, taking in deep breaths, the sweet, night air quickly restoring his aching lungs.

Like the nightsound, the plethora of new aromas was nearly overwhelming. Even the city had a scent of its own, old, pungent, a blend of aged stone, brick and wood. All of these new sensations coursed through his body, ennervating and instilling him with a new appreciation of all that went on in the world about him. He'd never dreamed...

Neville lowered his arms, opening his eyes to survey his surroundings. He was on the edge of a good sized park. The sleeping city spread out before him, the faintest hint of dawn creeping into the sky. He wasn't at all familiar with Muggle London, so he didn't recognize the streets or landmarks in his view. But something was telling him he was in the right place. A few more yards to the north. Through that clump of trees, across the road, halfway down the street. Almost there. He didn't know how he knew that was where he needed to be, wanted to be.

It just felt right.

The Voice had fallen strangely silent. That was totally fine. It had begun to annoy him, anyway.

With a grin, he jogged across the park. A few cars were passing by a few streets over. A refuse lorry rumbled past as he stepped out of the park and up to the curb. He crossed the narrow street, threading through the line of parked cars to the other side. A row of town houses loomed over the pavement, silent, dark. He kept moving, listening, watching, feeling. He was close, so very close. He was feeling warm inside, the slow, steady flush rising out of his collar and up his neck. He stopped suddenly, turning to look at the building in front of him. Tan brick, three stories tall, the number 43 painted on the transom over the double front doors.

Neville nearly swooned as he looked up.

Tommy gazed down at him from an open third storey window.

Neville's breath was suddenly short, his groin on fire. With quick glances from side to side, he focused on Tommy's wide smile and Apparated. The next instant, he found himself in a rather spacious, sparsely furnished sitting room. He was facing a blank wall; he turned around slowly, surprised to find Tommy barely inches away.

The short, red-headed vampire grinned wickedly, his fingers tracing the surface of his naked chest in large, lazy circles.

"About time, Sherlock," he murmured softly. "Now, where did we leave off?''

~~~~~~~~~~

Lightning streaks through the clouds, a huge, blood red moon hovering just beyond their edges, barely clearing the line of trees surrounding the garden. He walks out into the yard, as he always does. Gnomes scurry by. Thunder rolls. Two figures stand close to each other, murmuring quietly. He approaches slowly, watching them. Another flash of lightning. Rael leans in to whisper in the other person's ear, nodding toward him. Ron turns around, smiling. Rael vanishes into a swirling mist. The thunder rumbles louder now. He stands before Ron, looking up, silently questioning, asking, wondering.

"It's time," Ron says simply, running a finger down the middle of his chest. Ron moves past him, back toward the house. He turns, watching as Ron smiles at him from the kitchen door. "C'mon, Harry," his lips say, but he can't hear Ron's voice. Lightning flashes, momentarily blinding him, the bracing peal of thunder barely a second after. It begins to rain, and he moves quickly to Ron, his bare feet suddenly slipping on the wet grass. Ron gestures for him to hurry; he does, finally reaching the sanctuary of the doorway. Ron pats his shoulder, gently guiding him into the sitting room at Godric's Hollow.

Amazingly bright, blurry light pours in from every window. Sirius and Cedric hunch over a chessboard, the pieces oddly shaped and mismatched. Cedric waves his hand, and a suspended locket glides across the board to claim a small, golden goblet. Sirius chuckles, moving his miniature sword to take Cedric's queen, a tiny glowing ball of green light. They both turn in unison, nodding slightly as he walks by. Ron squeezes his shoulder, guiding him to the kitchen. They pass Draco and Dumbledore, engaged in deep conversation. He watches as Dumbledore speaks, Draco looking at the floor and nodding. Dumbledore winks at him as they slide by.

"Look," Ron says finally. He sees his Aunt Petunia, dressed in pink, her back to him, staring down at a body lying on the huge kitchen table. Ron gently pushes him forward, and as he approaches her, Petunia turns around, her face remarkably soft, warm, her eyes full of emotions he has never seen before. He notices the ugly, purplish bruises all along her cheek and brow. She watches as he looks down at the body there. Neville is dressed in his best robes, hands clasped at his waist, his skin deathly pale, almost translucent. Two prominent holes are visible on the side of his neck, open, ripped, bloody. Petunia reaches over, gingerly pulling Neville's collar up to hide them.

He starts to speak, but she presses a finger to his lips, nodding at Neville. He nods in response, looking at his aunt who holds out an envelope. He stares at it, watching its surface, whorls of cream and magenta swirling in a constant motion, blurring the letters inscribed on it. Petunia pushes the envelope to him, her long fingers in stark contrast to the soft, fuzzy surface of the parchment. He looks up, night has fallen, candles surround Neville's head and shoulders. They all are there now, in the kitchen, staring, waiting. He feels Ron press against him, his strong arms encircling his waist.

"It's time," Ron's voice echoes in his mind. Dumbledore nods as Petunia places the parchment in his upturned palm. Lightning flashes suddenly, a horrifically loud crash of thunder making him drop the parchment and clasp his hands to his ears. He feels Ron's hot mouth on his shoulder, his tongue lapping and laving at his ice cold flesh.

"You know what you have to do," Ron whispers, his fangs driving deeply into him. He bucks wildly, but Ron holds him tightly. His aunt smiles as the lightning flashes once more, blinding him. His breath catches in his throat; he struggles to pull in air, gasping, moaning, his strangled plea for help bursting up and out...

"Ron! No!"

Harry sat up, panting. He glanced about his room wildly, the notion that he had been dreaming yet again finally coalescing in his racing mind. Running a hand through his hair, he noted the first gray light of dawn filling the two huge windows opposite his bed, the old curtains waving lazily in the light breeze. He shivered slightly, his skin breaking out into gooseflesh as the air made contact with his sweat-slicked skin. He winced at the stiffness of his limbs, the dull throb of a headache making itself known. His skin was tight, dry, achy, as if sunburned. Groaning slightly as he shifted amongst the twisted sheets, he finally noticed that he was not alone in the room.

"Who is Ron?" Yuri asked absently, rising stiffly from the natty wingback chair in the corner. "Your redheaded friend, yes?"

Harry rubbed his temple, sighing. "Yeah, that's right. You met him last night...well, sort of," he finished, suddenly realizing that he was naked beneath the sheets. He yanked them up about his waist, taking care to cover himself properly.

"You had intense dream." It wasn't a question; the werewolf's bright brown eyes bored into him.

"Everybody dreams," he replied tersely, reaching over to the bedside table and snatching at his glasses. He slid them on quickly, taking in the stocky lycan. Yuri was rather imposing, wearing a rather tight-fitting grey tunic and faded jeans.

Yuri stared at him for a long moment. He was barely two feet away from the bed.

"Yes, that is true. Not everyone sees their meaning, or understands them. Many messages in dreams. Do they not teach you this as Hogwarts?" He smiled then, but it was devoid of warmth.

"Where's Remus?" Harry asked, looking past Yuri at his bedroom door.

Yuri took a step closer. "You should talk about dreams while fresh in mind. Before they fade. It will help." He planted his fists on his hips, flashing the cold smile once more. "Not a time for secrets."

Harry sighed in frustration. He didn't want to talk about his bloody dreams, especially now, naked in bed, with a Slovenian werewolf staring at him.

"Where is Remus?" he repeated defiantly, pulling the sheet tighter about himself.

"And how is Neville? Is he okay?"

Yuri remained silent, his expression impassive. He merely cocked his head and folded his arms across his broad chest.

"Fine," Harry snorted. "Great. Look, I really need to get dressed, so if you don't mind." He jerked his head toward the door.

Yuri still stood there, smiling, unmoving. Harry felt the heat flush his face. He felt ridiculous sitting there, held by nothing more than someone else's gaze. And he'd had just about enough; his head was pounding now.

"I've been polite so far," he began slowly, his tone even, measured, but laced with warning. "But you need to leave, now!"

And still Yuri stood there, his smile seemingly moulded to his face.

Harry looked away, his temper flaring like a flame fanned by a steady breeze. "Get the fuck out of here!" he yelled, summoning his wand. It arrowed across the room, landing neatly in his right hand. "I'm warning you," he growled, pointing the wand directly at Yuri's chest.

Yuri glanced down, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "Is worse than I feared," he responded softly. "You have been on your own too long. No matter. I am here now." Before Harry could reply, Yuri leaped onto the bed, his movements blindingly fast. The next second, he was on top of Harry's waist, pushing his shoulders down into the mattress with both hands. Harry struggled, but Yuri was far too strong and held him easily. Yuri grabbed and squeezed Harry's wrist. He gave a startled yelp, his wand falling from his open hand to the mattress.

Harry flailed about as best he could, but it was futile. He couldn't budge the muscular werewolf at all. "Get off me!" he yelled, pausing in his struggle to stare into Yuri's eyes. They were the deepest, warmest brown he had ever seen. And so very serene, so calming. Harry felt his anxiety and anger begin to ebb away. He struggled a bit more, writhing and thrashing about, but it was no use. Gasping, he stared intoYuri's eyes again, sighing resignedly as he relaxed against the bed.

Yuri nodded, leaning in very close. "I say this only once, little man," he replied through clenched teeth. "From now on, things will be different. No secrets. No lies. No time for nonsense now. I am most understanding of stress you are under, but is no excuse for acting foolish. Time for total honesty. You have been hiding things from Remus. He worries too much as it is. I will not allow you to overburden him further. And your friend Neville is in serious trouble. You need to work with us, not against us. Is this understood?" He smiled that cold smile once more, his eyes bright.

Harry looked away, staring at the dead hearth. The sun peeked over the rooftops of the houses across the street, a slender ray of sunlight splaying through the curtains and across the threadbare carpet. He looked back at Yuri, whose impossibly inviting eyes nearly made him swoon. What the hell was this, some sort of hex? A Slovenian calming charm? Either way, it seemed that there was only one thing he could do to get Yuri to release him. And he'd better do it quickly. The feeling of Yuri's wonderfully muscled body pressing against his, with only a thin sheet between them, was actually rather arousing.

"Loud and clear," he mumbled quickly. "Will you let me up now?"

Yuri stared at him a few moments longer before nodding slightly. He released Harry's wrists, snatching up his wand and stuffing it in the back pocket of his jeans. He backed away from the bed, folding his arms again, smiling.

"Um, I need to get dressed," Harry said stiffly, sitting up and staring back.

"Don't let me stop you," Yuri replied cheerfully.

Harry snorted, pursing his lips and tossing the sheet aside. He swung his legs over the bed, sliding off of it, his feet hitting the carpet with a thud. He mirrored Yuri's stance, smirking. The werewolf's eyes remained locked on his. Harry blew out a breath, stomping across the room to his wardrobe. He yanked it open, rooting about and pulling out a pair of y-fronts. He pulled them on and was just shaking out a pair of jeans when the door creaked open, Remus poking his head inside.

Harry savagely thrust his legs into his jeans as Remus walked up to Yuri, a confused expression on his face.

"Yuri, is there something wrong?" he glanced from his lover to Harry and back again.

Yuri shrugged. "I'm not certain, Moony," he offered casually. "I am hopeful Harry and I have cleared air a bit. Rest is up to him."

Remus shot Harry a concerned look. "How are you feeling?"

"Just fine," Harry replied curtly, shrugging into a t-shirt. "Bit of a headache. I'll be all right after I get something to eat. Yuri was just telling me how happy he is to be here, isn't that right, Yuri?"

Remus furrowed his brow. "What's going on?"

Yuri chuckled. "Is as Harry says. We were just getting to know each other better. And he was going to tell me about most interesting dream, yes?"

Harry stared, smirking. "Right. Exactly. But first, I'm starved. What's for breakfast?"

Remus frowned, but nodded nonetheless. "Moody dropped off some things early this morning. He and Tonks will be back shortly to fill us in about last evening's Death Eater attacks. I think we'll all feel better after a good meal."

Yuri nodded, squeezing Remus' shoulder. "Good idea. I'll go collect Malfoy and check on Neville, and then I'll be right down." He flipped Harry his wand as he turned to leave, sparing him a quick wink before he yanked open the door and disappeared into the hallway.

Harry caught the slender bit of wood deftly, shoving it into his jeans pocket as he crossed the room, intending to pass by Remus on his way out. Remus put out his arm, catching Harry across the chest.

"Not so fast. I know you well enough to see when you're upset. What is it?"

"Nothing, really, Remus," he sighed tiredly. "Yuri just wanted to know about a dream I had, and I wasn't in the mood to talk about it. Then, I was a bit rude to him, and he set me straight. We're right."

Remus let his arm fall, and Harry continued out and into the hallway. Remus followed in silence as the pair made their way into the kitchen. Several bags of groceries lay on the table, and they immediately set to putting them away. Remus charmed the teapot to boil as Harry filled a pitcher with pumpkin juice. They had both just sat down when Draco entered the kitchen, followed closely by Yuri. The blond glanced up quickly before staring downward and taking a chair a few places away from Harry.

Everyone stared at each other in silence for many moments. Yuri clapped his hands together, actually making Draco jump in his seat.

"I will check on Neville. If he seems cooperative, I'll bring him down." He winked at Remus, rubbing his belly. "We are going to be eating something, yes?"

"Yes, Yuri. Don't worry. You won't starve."

Yuri chuckled, turning on his heel and striding out of the kitchen. Both Harry and Remus turned to Draco, who once again avoided their gaze. With a sigh, he sat up straight, folding his hands together.

"I imagine you will be turning me over to The Ministry."

"Any reason why we shouldn't?" Harry spat out. "It's what you deserve."

Draco's head whirled about, his grey eyes narrowing. Remus cleared his throat.

"Harry, if you please, let's not be rude."

"Rude?" Harry harrumphed. "Why not? He's responsible for Dumbledore's murder. Good enough reason for a Dementor's kiss if you ask me."

Remus made to speak, but Draco interruped him. "So sure of your facts, are you Potter? I must add Divination to your list of attributes," he responded derisively. "Apparently that old bat McGonagall hasn't stressed to you that in our world, all are innocent until proven guilty."

"I was there," Harry hissed. "That's all the proof I need."

Draco pauseed a moment, visibly stunned. He composed himself quickly, snorting and shaking his head.

"Judge, jury and executioner all in one. How convenient. Such the virtuous Gryffindor. Probably pointless to remind you that at times, appearances can be most deceiving."

"Harry," Remus warned, his voice low.

"Run your mouth, Malfoy," Harry answered, his cheeks flushed. "It'll do no good. At the very least, you'll be inhabiting a cell next to your dear father."

Draco actually chuckled, albeit nervously. "At this point, Azkaban just might be the safest place for me."

Harry folded his arms, staring at the blond Slytherin with barely disguised hatred.

"Honestly, Remus, no one but us knows he's here. We can do as we please with him and no one would ever know."

Draco's eyes went wide as Remus squeezed Harry's forearm. "That's enough, Harry! I know you and Draco aren't exactly the closest of friends..."

"Understatement of the century," Harry interjected with a snort.

Remus massaged his temple, throwing Harry a reproachful look. "Harry, please," he warned, his voice low.

Harry blew out a breath. "Fine. Whatever."

Draco had been watching their exchange with interest, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Remus noted the grin, and flashed one of his own.

"First, Draco," he began warmly, "I want to assure you that the last thing I wish to do is turn you over to The Ministry."

"And you expect me to believe that?" Draco huffed, staring at the ceiling. "I'm not an imbecile, you know."

"Yes, I know," Remus replied, his hands splayed wide on the tabletop. "You're an intelligent young man, who's had a less than ideal home life. You may have set out to kill Albus, but when faced with the reality of it, you didn't. You're not a murderer, Draco. Of that I'm certain. I'm also quite certain that you had no choice but to take the Dark Mark. Your father would have had it no other way."

Draco stared incredulously, his mouth slack. An instant later, he shook his head.

"What do you know of it? How could you possibly-"

Remus cut him off. "I know a great deal more than you could imagine, Draco. You felt trapped, lost, alone. There wasn't a soul for you to confide in, no one to turn to. And I know all too well that one should never judge a person out of hand. Everyone deserves a second chance." He met Harry's stare and smiled.

"Everyone."

Harry blinked in response, turning to look at Draco, who appeared to be equally surprised.

"I still don't believe you," he mumbled to the far wall.

Remus nodded. "I understand. I can afford you a bit of time to think it over, Draco. The decision, of course, is yours. I don't have to remind you that this house will soon be filled with members of The Order. We cannot conceal or protect you here for very long without your cooperation. All I can say is that I want to help, and that youcan trust me."

The two stared at each other while Harry fidgeted in his chair, sighing.

"What's wrong, Potter?" Draco asked sarcastically. "Disappointed?"

"No, not really," Harry responded evenly. "What comes around goes around. You'll get what's coming to you."

Draco laughed. "Indeed. I could say the same about you."

Harry sat up. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Draco leaned back, folding his arms, arching an eyebrow. He stared smugly, silence his only response.

"Boys," Remus said tiredly, but Harry ignored him.

"What were you doing traipsing about looking like Ron?"

"Just a wild whim," Draco drawled. "And you know what was really interesting? It seems that your Weasel is rather well known at The Dragon's Lair. Enough that the dyke bartender knows what his favourite beer is." He noted Harry's wide-eyed stare. "Rotten swill, too. Typical Weasley. Absolutely no taste whatsoever..."

Harry's mouth worked silently. Remus leaned in, still holding onto Harry's arm.

"You mean Ron has been...he's..." Harry muttered. "What a load of shite!"

Draco shrugged. "I don't create the news, I merely report it. And your Gryffindor housemate seems to have been there often enough to have caught the heart of at least one lovely boytoy. Amazing coincidence, isn't it? And the next time you see Percy Weasley, you can ask him all about it. He was in the pub that night, as well as the alleyway."

"Balls!" Harry spat, standing up and sending his chair sliding across the floor. "He and Hermione are...they're...it can't be!"

For the first time, Draco smiled a genuine smile. "I can't see why you're acting so surprised, Potter. You mean you didn't know your Weasel is a poof? I thought you two had been shagging since first year, the way you stick to each other like glue."

Remus stood up, crossing over to Harry and throwing a restraining arm about his shoulder. "Harry, Draco, please. We need to get everything out into the open, but not in such an antagonistic manner." He pointed at Draco. "So you're saying that Percy was in the pub and the alley last night?"

Draco nodded.

Harry snorted, folding his arms. "I never saw him."

"That's because you were too busy fighting for your life," Draco offered. "At one point, I turned to look behind me, and a wand-flash illuminated the alley; I saw his curly ginger head as plain as day. Eyes about to pop out of their sockets, too."

Harry stared. "But he didn't help us..."

Draco shrugged. "Interesting, isn't it?"

Remus moved around Harry, stepping closer to Draco. "What else did you see?"

Draco was about to answer when Yuri stumbled into the kitchen, his face was flushed, his breath raspy. All three turned in unison as he slumped against the doorframe. Remus' eyes flew wide.

"Yuri!"

Yuri nodded, catching his breath. "Couldn't drop wards to his room. Thought I had forgotten exact incantation. I finally dropped them, but when I open door, was struck with Stunning Hex. It glanced off, so was only dizzy for minute or two."

Is Neville okay?" Harry asked in a shaky voice.

Yuri squeezed his eyes shut, swaying slightly as he rubbed his temple. Remus rushed to his side, steadying him.

"Well?"

Yuri opened his eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry. He's gone."
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Into The Long Dark